


Circles

by Indis



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: 18th Century, Developing Relationship, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 11:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15971459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indis/pseuds/Indis
Summary: All she had gone through, and for what? She was back exactly where she had started.





	Circles

Emily had thought, when Lydia had handed her the keys to her own property, that she had made her fortune. There would be no more fighting for scraps of comfort with the other girls on London’s streets, or bowing and kowtowing to a madam who had no care for Emily beyond what coin she made a house. No, she would be a bawd in her own right, her ‘House of Exotics’ a stroke of genius, an establishment the likes of which would attract culls from every corner of London. No, not just London, the entire _country_ , maybe even _France_ ; great lords would marvel at its ingenuity and originality until Emily was richer even than Lydia, so secure that she could settle in a great house and never have to concern herself with men again.

Of course, nothing had worked out like Emily had envisioned. Her girls had never looked at her with the respect she felt she had rightfully deserved: Cherry traitorously selling her out to Lydia, her change of heart coming too late to do any real good; Nell always blasé and unconcerned. But it had been Harriet that had wound up Emily the most, with her cool stare and careful words, never letting that strange dignity of hers fall out of place even as she waded through the muck with the rest of them.

It was Charles’ betrayal that stung the most, though. The way he had thrown her illiteracy in her face like a barb, his insults calculated to hit where they hurt most. And that final revelation, that her bawdy house had never been hers in the first place. Her dreams had gone up in smoke in a matter of seconds.

Emily had never loved Charles, not even so much as been attracted to him. But he had been an ally, the one who saved her when Lydia had arranged her rape and murder; she had shared a bed with him, had sex with him, and in their months of cohabitation companionship had inevitably sprung up between them. More often than not he had irritated her with his laziness and childish habits, and their disagreements had been countless. Nevertheless, theirs had been a partnership of sorts. And Charles had made it clear how little he valued it in the end.

So what if she had tricked him? He was like a pair of scales, leaning one moment towards Emily and the next towards his mother. Emily had used the first white lie that had come to mind. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, only the lie had grown bigger and bigger like the cushion she had stuffed under her skirts, until it was easier to keep on with the charade than own up.

All she had gone through, and for what? She was back exactly where she had started, before even Margaret Wells had snapped her up for the first house in Covent Garden, plying her trade in dank and miserable alehouses. Drunk as a skunk, a sleeve slipping off one shoulder, she sidled up to dockworkers and sailors who either ignored her or pushed her away.

‘Don’t you know I was a bawd myself? They call me the Duchess of Quim. I cost more than you’d earn in a year.’ They only laughed and jeered, stoking the flames of Emily’s fury further. She was too warm and her head pounded, but she kept shouting in the face of their mockery, words that slurred and didn’t even make sense to her. The unfairness of it all made her eyes sting and water, and her throat was too tight. How dare they laugh, how bloody dare they -

A hand landed on Emily’s shoulder, the surprise enough to knock her off her precarious balance. But whoever it was now had an arm around her shoulder, drawing her in to lean against their side. She looked up, right into the firm, no nonsense stare of Charlotte Wells.

‘Let go of me!’ Emily hissed, weakly trying to bat Charlotte away. Her clumsy efforts didn’t even make Charlotte flinch, although Charlotte’s nose wrinkled when Emily’s drink-sodden breath brushed over her face.

‘Damn, you stink. We need to get you cleaned up. Come on.’ Charlotte helped Emily to the door, more dragging than guiding her. Emily didn’t even try to fight it now.

Charlotte led them through the streets, to the new Greek Street house. The light from the windows was a welcoming beacon on the otherwise dark street, but Emily only felt unease building up deep in her belly. Once, she had left the Wells house never expecting to face any of its inhabitants again, but it seemed she was always landing herself in trouble that made her indebted to those she had left behind.

They made their way to a small kitchen at the back of the house. An auburn-haired girl was sat at the table, darning stockings by the light of a single candle. She looked up inquisitively at the intrusion. ‘Who’s that with you Charlotte?’

‘Emily Lacey. She worked with us before your time, in our old place.’ Charlotte settled Emily in a chair next to the girl, then set about warming a bowl of water and finding towels.

‘I’m Sukey,’ the girl said, grinning at Emily. Her friendliness only made Emily more sullen, and she made no answer.

‘Fine then, sulky.’ Sukey’s friendliness was gone, replaced by a note of irritation. When she next spoke to Charlotte, her voice had evened out again. ‘I’m going to turn in now.’ Before she left, Sukey gave Charlotte’s shoulder a little squeeze. Emily couldn’t help but notice, and then it dawned on her, that she was sat here being taken care of by Charlotte when Margaret Wells was fresh from the gibbet that morning.

What to say? Even Emily, who had never really gotten on with Margaret, felt Margaret’s loss inexplicably. Margaret Wells, whether you loved her or hated her, had been larger than life. Even Lydia hadn’t been unaffected by the news of her execution.

As Charlotte began to towel Emily clean, the drink steadily wore off, leaving Emily uncomfortably sober. ‘I’m...sorry. About Margaret. I know I wasn’t exactly her favourite person but...well. She didn’t deserve that.’

Charlotte’s frenzied cleaning motions across Emily’s back slowed for a moment, before speeding right back up again. ‘Please. Let’s not talk about her.’ Charlotte’s voice was tight, controlled. ‘This place is mine now. You’ve got a place here, if you need it.’

‘I don’t need your charity,’ Emily snarled.

‘It’s not charity,’ Charlotte snapped back. ‘I’m offering you a job.’

They didn’t talk as Charlotte wiped away the last of the sweat from Emily’s skin, the stink of alcohol that lingered in her hair from the alehouse. When she was done, she beckoned for Emily to follow her up the stairs, holding out the candle before her.

‘You know what happened to Kitty, but Fanny’s still here, with her daughter. Lucy too. You’ve met Sukey, but apart from her we only have one other new girl, Hannah. There’s pa and Jacob, same as always, and Nance pops in from time to time. Except for the house, not too different from when you were with us.’

She led Emily to her own room. _That_ was different; Emily had shared with Fanny, before. The room was small, a bed in the corner, a chair against the wall, and a washstand. There were two large windows set in the wall though, and Emily knew that with enough daylight it would feel larger than its actual size. She sat on the edge of the bed, gave it a little bounce for good measure. ‘I’ll stay then, until I find someplace else. And I’ll earn my own keep.’

‘I never suggested otherwise.’ Maybe Emily imagined it, but in the flickering candelight it seemed that Charlotte’s mouth was quirked slightly up at the corners, almost a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going off a personal headcanon that Emily is lesbian with a crush on Charlotte.


End file.
